


All Her Stars Broken, Stripes Faded and Worn Through, It’s the Red, White and Whiskey Blues

by JulesTheQuirky



Series: All Her Stars Broken, Stripes Faded and Worn Through, It’s the Red, White and Whiskey Blues [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Court Proceedings, F/M, Financial Debt, Financial Issues, Harm to Children, Harm to Others, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, pain pills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulesTheQuirky/pseuds/JulesTheQuirky





	All Her Stars Broken, Stripes Faded and Worn Through, It’s the Red, White and Whiskey Blues

## TWO YEARS AGO

“And what kind of access do you think Ms Y/M/N should have?” The Judge asked Misha.

He looked at you, then back down to his papers. He cleared his throat. Your heart was in your throat. This was the moment. You had tried really hard to prove to him and your children you could be the mom they wanted. You wanted shared ownership. 50/50. That was what you had worked for. It meant you having your children when he was in Vancouver. Your hands went to your blazer hem, holding it for comfort, holding it tight.

Misha looked at the Judge. “Supervised Access.”

Your heart plummeted straight down to your gut and your whole body crumpled. Tears threatened to spill and a ball in your throat constricted your airways as you fought to control yourself and heartbreak sliced through you in the instant the words left his mouth.

It meant you wouldn’t see your children for nine months. It meant seeing your children once every fortnight for an hour or so.

“Can you tell me why?”

“Y/N has done exceptionally well proving to me that she can be a mother to her children, it’s other… issues she needs to work upon, I feel.”

“What issues are they?”

You looked from Misha to the Judge. Issues? What issues? Your heart began to pound and you felt a migraine coming on.

“Well, I know for a fact she struggles to pay rent on time, she struggles to pay bills. Excuse me for snooping Judge, but I know she’s in debt,” Everything was going downhill fast. You had been hopeful at the beginning of court but now you were fast declining. So you had money worries. Big deal, everyone you knew nowadays had money problems. You couldn’t afford a solicitor so you had to represent yourself. Did he really thing you were irresponsible when it came to money? “Since our estrangement I’ve noticed alcohol -”

“I’m not an alcoholic.” You chimed in, ready to defend your statement until your last breath.

“Ms Y/M/N, please, do not interrupt. Mr Collins, please continue”

“I hope Ms Y/M/N doesn’t rely on alcohol and I certainly feel it wouldn’t help her mental health.”

The bastard. Your mouth fell open in shock. He was playing dirty. You bit the inside your cheek to stop yourself, but your eyes sent daggers his way.

The Judge looked to you.

“Ms Y/M/N.”

You hadn’t heard him the first time. You were still looking at Misha, shaking as you contained your anger.

“Ms Y/M/N. Stop looking at Mr Collins like that. Look ahead to the front.”

You pulled your focus from Misha to the Judge.

“Can you explain to me why you never mentioned any mental health problems.”

“Because it never got in the way of me being a mother. I’m a good mom. I give my kids what they need. Hell I was always there for them when they skinned their knee. I’m not a bad mother. My Borderline doesn’t get in the way.”

“Ms, with all due respect, can you tell me what happened on the night of August 12th, 2015?”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in.

“I don’t wish to disclose the information.”

“Ma’am its not a case of whether or not you want to.”

“Don’t you have it there in your notes?”

“I do.”

“Then why are you asking me when you already have it written down?”

“I’m asking for your recollection of the night. I have facts here. I want your full understanding whether or not you still think your mental illness affects motherhood.”

You swallowed past the ball in your throat. Your mouth had gone dry and it hurt to swallow.

“It was hot. I don’t recall everything.”

“Tell what you do remember.”

“I remember a couple days before asking for a higher dose. I was struggling. I know I didn’t pay attention as much as I should have. And I didn’t want to burden Mr Collins. He was on hiatus. I didn’t want to worry him. I wanted to deal with it by myself. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t sad. I was worried and the voices inside played with that,” You closed your eyes and took a breath before continuing, feeling it harder to breathe. “They said things. Told me they would hurt my children and Mr Collins if I didn’t do what they said.”

“And what did they say?”

You wiped a stray tear and sniffed.

“Take your time, Ms Y/M/N.”

You nodded. “They told me to get samples of my families blood. Wanted me to drink it, so I would be whole with them.” The tears flowed freely now and you didn’t bother wiping them away.

“Did you do it?”

You nodded. “To my youngest. I remember comforting her as I did it, when she screamed my eldest ran to Mr Collins. He came in and I remember begging him. I begged him to let me. The voices became louder and I could barely hear Mr Collins or my children over the screaming inside my head.”

“Do you remember what happened after?”

“It’s a haze. I’m not sure. I know my youngest was taken to hospital. People came in, I’m not sure what happened but I remember waking up in a strange place.”

“It says here in the Doctors report; ‘Mrs Collins persisted to beg her husband, Mr Collins to let her take a blood sample. She was hysterical. Assistants had to wrestle the knife from her hand. Mrs Collins was subdued and tranquillised. Mr Collins agreed his wife needed extra help and care to which Claremont could undertake. ’Do you still think after hearing that, that your Borderline doesn’t get in the way of motherhood?”

You looked down.

“I spent time in Claremont. I participated in the group sessions, I welcomed the therapy and the new medication. I’m doing my best. I want this more than anything.” You said finally.

“Please.” You whispered in desperation.

The court awarded Misha as the children’s guardian and you got supervised access. You felt like dying. You wanted to get the hell out of there. You avoided looking at him as you made your way out of the courtroom. You heard his strides catching up to you, the familiarity as his hand wrapped round your arm.

The last thing you wanted was to talk to him. He stopped you outside the courtroom.

“Y/N, I just wondered if-”

“Not right now.”

“Well.” He let go and pulled out his wallet, and produced a wad of notes, pushing them into your hand.

The act alone of him forcing money into your hand angered you, but forcing you to close your hand over them, pushed you overboard.

“I don’t need your money!” You hissed and slammed the notes to his chest.

He curled his hand over them, looking down at them closing his eyes before looking back to you.

“Y/N… I know how hard-”

“Goodbye, Dmitri.” You snapped.

You walked away from him leaving him standing. The usage of his birth name leaving him stunned, leaving him knowing exactly how hurt and mad you were.

## NOW

Misha rolled into the trailer park. It was covered with flags and banners of patriarchy. Kids were running around, barbecues were on the go and he could smell the charcoal burn and the meat marinating in sauces.

Almost everyone had the American flag on their body. He wondered about you. Wondered if you were doing anything right now, wondered if you were among the people out here. He pulled up to your trailer and parked. All your windows were open and he could hear music play softly on the radio. He stepped out and knocked on your door. He didn’t get a response. He knocked again and waited. When he didn’t get a reply he began to think you were out.

“She’s in. She’s probably asleep.” A neighbour called out.

He thanked your neighbour and he peered through your window.

“Ayuh.” they said.

It was dark inside and he couldn’t see much. Your curtains were drawn on most of your windows, thankfully not this one. It wasn’t exactly messy, but it wasn’t tidy. He saw a hand and a leg hanging off the sofa. You were lying face down. Then he saw the empty bottle of alcohol on the table and the orange pill container. Something in him kicked him into fifth gear. He went to your door and booted it open. He strode in heading straight for you. He almost tripped over the strap of your bag on laying on the floor. He knelt down and saw a crumpled photo on the floor. He picked it up. It was you and him on your wedding day. He looked around, seeing the photo album on the floor, noting the whiskey bottle and empty aspirin container.

He cursed under his breath.

“Hey, you can’t just do that!” It was her neighbour.

“Call 911.” He barked the instruction.

Her neighbour blocked the sunlight streaming in.

“You’re gonna have to pay for that. The landlord-”

“Shut up and call 911!” Misha yelled interrupting her.

He tried rousing you awake.

“Y/N can you hear me?”

He got no response. He rolled you over and checked if you were breathing. You were. Barely. Nausea, guilt and a whole other level of sadness swamped him. He didn’t know howl long you had been like this, but your lips were starting to turn blue. With some difficulty he placed you in the recovery position, his hand stroking your hair affectionately, noting the dried tear stains on your cheeks. You were unconscious.

“Come on, Y/N, wake up. I need you to wake up.”

By some miracle he saw your fingers twitch.

“I’ve called 911. They’re on their way.”

He thanked your neighbour.

He saw letters printed with red ‘FINAL DEMAND’ strewn all over the table. You were too proud to accept money, too proud to ask. Much too stubborn.

He saw a framed picture of you and the kids during happier times. When everything hadn’t gone to shit when your Borderline hadn’t taken a  turn for the worst.

It hurt him knowing you refused to see him. You hadn’t responded well to the separation and he was having second thoughts about beginning a divorce.

You fell in and out of unconsciousness a couple times and before the EMT’s arrived  you stopped breathing. Your neighbour was on the phone with emergency services waiting for them to arrive. They guided Misha on giving you CPR.  When they arrived, Misha watched as they took over. He couldn’t bear the thought of you dying on him. He couldn’t watch as they pumped your chest trying to restart your heart. Misha dialled his mom’s number as they started the defibrillator. Grief overwhelmed him and his mother helped until an EMT declared a heart beat. Relief washed over him and he tearfully told his mother. They took you away to hospital. Misha explained to them what he was pretty sure had happened. He didn’t know how much whiskey you had consumed, didn’t know how much aspirin you had downed.

You woke up, your eyes blurry, the background noise becoming louder with each passing second. You blinked and rubbed your eyes, then noticed the intravenous drip attached to your arm. A steady beep filing your ears. Your mouth was dry like sandpaper and you had a road drill in your head. You groaned. A blue curtain around you sealed you off from everyone beyond it. You were in hospital. You closed your eyes wondering how the hell you got here.

Your curtain was being pulled open and you covered your eyes with your arm.

“How are you feeling?” A female voice rang out. She sounded sweet, maybe a little too sweet.

You didn’t talk. Probably best if you didn’t. you gulped. Damn the sandpaper went all the way down your throat and you grimaced.

“You were lucky. If your husband hadn’t found you, you’d probably wouldn’t be here. He called emergency services immediately.”

You hmmed.

“Y/N, I need yo to be frank with me now. Was that your first suicide attempt?”

You sighed and licked your dry cracked lips.

“I didn’t try to kill myself. I had a headache.”

“Honey, you chased a large amount of aspirin with whiskey.”

You stood by your statement.

“You had your stomach pumped, darling, and now you’re on a drip to keep you from dehydration. Your husband told us you were dropping in and out of consciousness. You dyed. It took a couple rounds of CPR and a defibrillator to bring you back. Do you remember?”

You didn’t. You didn’t recall any of that. You shook your head. What the hell had Misha been doing at yours?

“Separated.” you simply said.

You didn’t want to go into it. Not with your head pounding.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like death.” you croaked.

“Y/N, why are you covering your eyes?”

“Too bright.”

“And how do you feel about loud noises?”

You groaned waving a hand at her to indicate no.

“Okay, I need to get serious with you. You had lethal amounts of aspirin and alcohol in your system. And I’m positive you would have died. I with your husband and he agrees that you need help.”

You shook  your head. “No.”

You heard the pause. Then her sigh.

“Id like you to consider it.”

You heard him. It sounded like he was on the phone. You couldn’t. not with him around. You groaned and pulled the sheets over your head.

“I'll leave you alone.”

You didn’t want to be alone with him. You waited for him to speak. You heard his footsteps move closer, the chair being pulled aside and the sound of him taking a seat.

The wait was torturous.

You sighed.

“Talk if you must. Keep it down though, I have a headache."

He sighed.

“The kids miss you.”

You snorted humourlessly. Your own children didn’t want to see you and it hurt. They hadn’t wanted to come over, hadn’t wanted to spend time with you.

“Cut the crap.”

“How about you cut the crap and actually tell me what the hell is going on. You tried killing yourself.”

“I didn’t. I had a headache.”

He laughed without humour.

“Y/N, its the fourth of July, and you were passed out on your couch, barely breathing. Whiskey and pills on the table. I went back there and found more pulls, more alcohol. You’re going to rehab and you’re getting counselling.”

His voice was raised tinted with anger.

“No. I don’t need help.”

“You tried to kill yourself-”

“I didn’t!” You interjected

“You died. I was there, waiting for them to arrive. I gave you CPR. What do you think the kids will think if they lost their mother?”

You didn’t want to think about that. didn’t want to think that maybe they were better off without you.

“Nurse said you found me.” you piped up after a moments silence, changing the subject.

“I did.”

“What were you doing?”

“I wanted to see if you wanted to join us for a barbecue.”

“Oh.”

If he saw the bottle and pills he must have seen everything else.

“Those letters, Y/N-”

“Did you go snooping?!”

“No, they were out on your table. I heard you haven’t paid rent in months.”

“I’m working on it.”

Did he know?

“Honey, I know you need money.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re in debt. Are you taking your medication?”

“Uhuh.”

“Y/N, please look at me.”

You didn’t want to.

“Tired.” was your response.

“Don’t be mad but I transferred money into your account and booked you into rehab.”

You wanted to be angry. But you were fast becoming drowsy and you didn’t have the kind of energy for that.

“Be mad in the mornin’” You mumbled.

Misha saw the steady rise and fall of your chest and knew you were asleep. He stood, leaned over and pulled down the sheet covering your face, letting it crumple around you. He looked at you. You looked peaceful. Your brow wasn’t creased with worry, and despair was no longer written on your face. Sleep made you look years younger and he allowed himself to gaze. You weren’t looking at him like he had broken your heart a thousand times, or hating him with every fibre of your being. You weren’t yelling at him or begging him, or crying down the phone.

He pulled the screwed up picture of you and him on your wedding day and placed it on the counter. You weren’t wearing your ring, and he didn’t know why that bothered him, but then again neither was he.

He was on hiatus. And he hadn’t seen you in a while. He was either on set or at home with the kids. What did you do? He wondered.

He let his fingers fall on your cheek. He traced the faint tear stain and thought about the words he had last said to you.

The kids had been ill and it was your day to see them. He had to be the one to break it to you. You had wanted to do what you can. And in the end he had told you. “Just stay home Y/N, it’ll be better for you.”

And then he had put the phone down.

The more he thought about those words, the more angry and upset he became at himself. It wasn’t fair on you. You were keeping your end of the bargain and when he had said the kids didn’t want to see you, well he felt like an asshole after.

He hadn’t thought of you. And maybe if he had, then this would have never have happened.

He leaned down, his hand cupped your face and he pressed his lips softly to your forehead. He could deal with you being mad at him tomorrow. He would fight to get you better and fight to make you become the person you once were.


End file.
